Going up in Flames!

Hello, dear friends, so here I am once again. I'm not doing as much swimming these days as I'd like but I am trying to get in the water once in a while, when I'm not dealing with some kind of respiratory bug that seems to attack me on alternate weeks, when I'm exhausted with running about from here to the East Bay and back again. Anyway, I digress...

My dear friend CC insisted I post this story, and I'm going to do it. After all, why should I pretend to have my act together? Heaven only knows that I don't, so why should I keep that knowledge from you, my faithful fellow swimmers? It's time to come clean...well, you'll see what I mean!

I had a scary thing happen last night--
When we came home, the house was as cold as a granite mausoleum. The pilot light in our gas furnace was off --the wind must have blown it out when the garage door opened when I left early in the windy, rainy morning. So my dear husband, being the man of the house, manfully attempted to re-light it. It had been a long day at work for him, and he had taken the BART out to the East Bay to join me in visiting his folks, and while we had a lovely visit with them, we were both hungry, cold and fighting grumpiness. It had been a cold and hard rainy day--in some respects we were both really tired out from it.

So, neither of us could bear the thought of being in the house without any heat. After some sincerely brave attempts, the pilot was still off. My hubby went upstairs in frustration, and I thought, OK, I've got to figure this out or we are going to have a miserable night.

So I asked for the Lord to help me--a half prayer--not realizing how stupid I could be in
poking about into something I had the theory for but not the experience with.
I had seen our handyman re-light this thing before--I just didn't remember that he had used a long handled match to do it with--that was my first mistake. Hang on here friends, it only get better...

I took the long handled gizmo we use to light the fireplace with (it's got lighter fluid in it and produces a flame at the end, but for the life of me, I'm not remembering what to call it at this point), I got it to light, (no easy feat, I tell you) pressed the button to turn on the pilot and put it where you are supposed to in order to light the thing up.
The pilot caught, and I removed the lighter, and twisted the dial and FOOM!
A big whoosh of flame came out, and I moved back fast as I could (I was on my knees).
It caught me in the face, and I heard a crackle.
Long story short, some of my hair in the front got singed off,
my eyebrows are singed off, and I feel like a circus attraction.
My sweet hubby was horrified that I had hurt myself.
My forehead, my eye sockets were bright pink.
The furnace was on again, but I was a mess.
I splashed my face with cold water.
I was shedding bits of burnt hair all over the sink!
I was in shock--I jumped in the shower to wash off all the burned smell.
I laughed, and then I cried, somewhat hysterically.
Oy, what a mess I am!
And I kept thinking--Lord, You are Sovereign, what are You trying to help me see that I need to see that I can't seem to get? I didn't think I was that vain, but walking around on our upcoming travels without my eyebrows seems daunting.
I found an old eye pencil in my makeup bag and drew some in a little. I felt just a bit better.
It didn't look as awful as I thought it would. But I'm no beauty contest winner, that for sure!

I remember that when I was in Junior high some of the girls thought it was the height of style to shave off their eyebrows and then pencil new ones in place. I thought it looked dreadful back then. Well, now that this has happened to me, courtesy of my own stupidity, I see that I was right all along about that!

My beloved knew that comforting and gentle words were called for. He looked me straight in the eyes, (his eyes never lie) and said, "Your hair looks fine, no one will notice it, don't worry, you look beautiful to me, you don't look like a freak." Then helpfully he said to me, "You have to go get some of your favorite body lotion anyway before we hit the road, so go to Nordstrom to one of those beauty counters and ask them to help you with what you can do with makeup till your brows grow back to normal."

Brilliant idea, right? So why do I have that crazy sinking sensation that I used to get whenever I would stand up to sing a solo in junior high choir and everyone was staring at me?
Oy, I am a mess! Why does presenting myself at the cosmetic counter in this hairless state make me feel nervous and unsettled and semi-miserable? Is it my pride making the idea of going to one of those perfect ladies from Nordstrom and asking for help my problem thoroughly abhorrent? Will they laugh after I leave or will they be unable to contain themselves and laugh in my face? And why in the world should I care about that?

My lovely daughter offered to drive all the way in today to hold my hand so I could do this.
I declined her generous offer--this is her errand day, and she's got stuff she needs to do.

My life sometimes feels like a chapter in the Perils of Pauline!

This is one wild, rambling post and if you have stayed with me thus far, you have more intestinal fortitude than most, and I am grateful.

When I think about it, I am profoundly grateful for another reason. It isn't lost on me that this little debacle could have been infinitely worse. I'm a bit singed but still here, and I'm still planning on swimming in God's love while I laugh at my own silliness and absolute need for His grace. Every day I get a fresh demonstration of my need for Him. There's actually a great deal of freedom in being able to post this whole mess here!

So, here's the deal--I wrote all about this to my dear CC, complete with my panic attack about the Nordstrom ladies and she came up with a different spin altogether. She has a delicious sense of the ridiculous and CC unfurled a scenario that I could picture as if it were a movie: "You go to the MAC counter, and some adorable gay guy with makeup brushes galore comes to your rescue. 'DAH-ling, what EVER did you DO TO YOURSELF' he croons at you in a silky voice. Suddenly, you are gorgeous thanks to his miraculous brush work, and you learn how to do this genius stuff yourself and are now going around splendiferous, all the time. Oh, what fun it would be to go to Nordies with you, to watch the whole thing happen!"

So now, you guessed it--I'm seriously contemplating driving to get CC at lunch-time, tomorrow, making the trip to the downtown Nordies and going for it. She says I should milk it for all I'm worth! I'm going to need to go out and buy a box of chutzpah flakes. I must be insane to be thinking of doing this. Or in desperate need of a good laugh. Or eyebrows. Or perhaps both! But my hubby gave me permission--even encouraged me to do this. Why not?

So, tune in next time for our next episode of "The Woman who had no Eyebrows." It's sure to be quite a wild one, especially if CC comes along to help make it so!